Fire
by Magdelope
Summary: Leliana feels like Thedas is a tomb and has lost all hope, but when she's at that breaking point a revelation finds her. About Leliana's religion. And Andraste. And the maker. One shot. Written before Inquisition came out and thus has no spoilers.


"Why are you crying, child?"

Leliana looked up from the cup of ale she had in front of her. She hated the taste, but there wasn't much else to drink anymore. It was strange being called child, she was nearly forty years old.

"Leave me be," she said to the hooded figure that had sat down next to her, "I'm not in the mood to talk."

A strange noise came from under the hood, slightly soothing. A laugh.

"Yes you are," the figure said, "tell me everything."

Leliana looked up, but it was dark in the tavern and she could see nothing under the hood. But the voice was that of an old woman. She wanted to snap at the crone to leave, but suddenly the thought of talking to a stranger felt freeing.

"I feel sad," Leliana said eventually, "I feel… numb in a way I don't recognize. I feel like I have nothing to fight for anymore. I feel like my world is gone."

"But you want it back, don't you?" The crone said.

Leliana frowned as she felt more tears leave her eyes.

"I thought I did," she said, "but maybe I don't. This world hasn't exactly been kind to me."

"Me neither, child," the crone said, "but that's not what's bothering you."

Leliana looked up at the older woman in surprise. What bothered her at the moment was that she could not see her table companions face, but she couldn't say that.

"Dead and useless," she almost whispered, "that's what we all are. I don't know how they can't see. Thedas is a tomb."

"Thedas isn't…" the old woman started but Leliana interuppted her. Suddenly a long string of words left her mouth, words that she had wanted to say for so long but kept inside her.

"How many people have died?" She gasped, "how many people will continue to die slow deaths as we fight for what has already been lost? I'm an advisor, I'm supposed to keep the morale up, but in reality I just want to sleep. I'm tired. I'm so tired of always fighting. Why can't I rest? Isn't it my turn to rest soon? I am so exhausted. I am not a young girl anymore, I'm on the verge of becoming an old woman. You can't say anymore that I am fighting for my own future. And everything is hurting. I have a finger that never healed properly from a break, a piece of my ear is missing. I'm covered in scars. When it gets cold it hurts to walk. Who am I fighting for? Who is worth my sacrifice?"

"Child," the crone said and reached out with a hand to rub Leliana's back as the bard burst into tears.

"I could have married anyone," Leliana said, her voice thick with crying, "I could have stayed with Marjolaine until womanhood and then married somebody suitable. I could have been a wife. A mother. Instead I have been running around like a headless chicken, no purpose." She took a deep breath, then she let out her worst secret.

"I've been so stupid. So boastful. A dream from the Maker? I am ashamed to think about it now. About the many years I've spent thinking that the Maker had a message just for me? What kind of Maker allows this to happen to his creation? What kind of Maker allows me to be tortured and raped and decieved and betrayed over and over? What have I done to deserve this? What did I do? Please, just tell me." The last words were a mere whisper as she kept crying. It was a relief to finally say outloud what she had been carrying inside for months, if not years.

"I am following a religion where the damned symbol for mercy is a sword," Leliana suddenly snapped, "it's foolish. I am foolish. And the Maker doesn't exist."

"Oh, he exists, love," the crone said, "he does. He exists in all of us. And he weeps for his world." A bony hand that smelled of earth, flowers and fire came up and moved a couple of hairs from the front of Leliana's face to behind her ear.

"And most of all," the crone said, "he weeps for you."

"What do you mean?" Leliana said as the smell of burning wood slowly engulfed her, making her sleepy and simultanously making her feel at home.

"I think you know what I mean," the crone said, "I think you've always known. Always. Even when you were still a little girl. You have always known. Even before that horrid creature betrayed you and left you to find your place at my chantry."

"Your chantry?" Leliana whispered. She hardly dared to breathe. The scent of fire was slowly becoming overwhelming and she could hear a slight crackling sound. The sound of fire, eating up wood. She felt her heart quicken.

"You need to fight for a little bit more," the crone said, "fight for him, Leliana of Thedas, fight for him and fight for me."

The sound of fire kept getting louded and louder until it filled Leliana's ears and swallowed her up. She closed her eyes as she heard the cry of a dying woman. The sound was too loud, hurting her. It was too much.

"Please, please," Leliana cried, "please make it stop." Everything turned quiet in an instant, even though she could feel the flames all around her. They were burning her, but it didn't hurt.

"Open your eyes, Leliana," a male voice said in her head. It was a voice she had heard often, ever since she was little. She had no choice but to obey. Leliana opened her eyes again, staring into the flaming orbs of Andraste's eyes.

The tavern was gone, instead Leliana was sitting inside an orange orb, hot red flames dancing around her. In front of her, the crone was sitting, the hood pulled back displaying her white hair and her crown. The crown that the Maker had placed on her head. Leliana felt herself crying again, but it was no longer tears of despair.

"Andraste…" she whispered, hardly believing it. The woman in front of her shone like the sun. Andraste leaned down and placed a hot hand against Leliana's cold cheek. Leliana closed her eyes.

"We belong in the fire, you and I," Andraste said, "it is not our job to know why. Or if we could have prevented it. We simply are what we are. Chosen by the Maker. Crowned by the Maker." Leliana started nodding. She fell to her knees. After being quiet for so long, the words finally came to her. She started singing.

…

Leliana woke up in the rockery by the sound of two jackdaws getting into a fight. She sighed, everything was the same after all. She got up, seperated the fighting birds. Cleaned her face in the water after breaking the surface ice. That was when she noticed a small jar carrying a couple of Andraste's grace standing on the windowsill. Leliana hadn't picked them. And one of them was on fire.


End file.
